


Clark On Duty

by Musafir



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, Protective Bruce Wayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 18:54:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17493380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musafir/pseuds/Musafir
Summary: Ever since Bruce found out about Tim’s missing spleen he’s asked Clark to keep an eye/ear out for him since Tim refuses to be benched. This leads to a lot of Clark randomly showing up when Tim’s heartbeat reaches a certain high rate. Or disappears entirely.





	Clark On Duty

 

Clark On Duty 

 

Tim stared down at the congregation of thugs on the street below. His uniform was prepped to go into stealth mode, and he blended in perfectly within the shadows of the water tank looming behind him. He had come to New York City on work for Wayne Enterprises, only intended to stay for a day or two, but the meetings had been dragged out and delayed since the CEO of the other company had been stranded on his private island due to an influx of terrible storms. 

 

Tim would have appreciated it if someone had thought to inform him before had touched down in the Big Apple. 

 

But no matter; he had had the miraculous foresight to pack his suit and was ready to punch out some of the pent up frustration he had been feeling. And on the plus side, he could test out the improvements he had made to the costume’s stealth mode; it had been his side project for a while now and he finally had deemed it street ready. He had been playing around with various materials that would help buffer his vocal output into the world and make his edges almost seamless. Suffice to say, he had been feeling incredibly proud when the final prototype had rolled out.

 

Tim checked his gauntlets, making sure all his weapons were easily accessible, before glancing back down to where the men were laughing over a pile of illegal unmarked guns. He activated the stealth mode, feeling his costume physically shift. 

 

It was time to  _ play _ . 

 

He swooped down silently, his upgraded costume doing wonders to minimize the amount of noise he made. It took the thugs five seconds to notice that he had even joined them. 

 

And then the party started. 

 

As he took down the third man, with an almost too easy swing of his Bo, Tim started to enjoy himself. Clearly thugs in NYC were not up to the same caliber of the thugs in Gotham. Which meant that this patrol would be nice and- 

 

_ Dark _ . 

 

It took him a few seconds to process what had happened, and a few more seconds to fill his lungs with the air needed to gasp. He forced his eyes open against the wind before whatever was holding him shifted and pressed his face more securely against the hard...shoulder? 

 

A moment later and he was laid out on a dingy rooftop, trying to force his eyes open. 

 

“C-... _ Clark _ ?” he finally managed to gasp out. He hoped to God that's who had kidnapped him. The flashes of blue against his wind razed eyelids certainly seemed to suggest so. 

 

“Tim, Tim. Don’t worry. You’re going to be fine.” He heard Superman say, and breathed out a sigh of relief. Which was immediately misconstrued. 

 

“That’s right Tim. Don’t worry. I got you-” Strong fingers grabbed the edges of his suit, and before he could breathe in the air to voice a protest, easily ripped apart his costume. 

 

Tim let out a moan of grief against his will. His  _ suit _ . His _ precious suit _ . Why was Clark  _ doing  _ this? 

 

“Tim. Talk to me. Where does it hurt? I’m not seeing anything-” The Super’s hands were fluttering all along his exposed chest, circling repeatedly back to his heart where Clark pushed against in time to the pulse thundering in Tim’s ears, almost as if he was giving him...CPR?

 

“Clark.” Tim ground out more strongly. He raised his hands and grabbed at Clark’s wrists. He held on uselessly for a few seconds, hands being jerked along before Clark realized he was trying to get him to hold still. 

 

“What are you  _ doing _ ?” he asked, finally being able to open his eyes and trying to make full eye contact with the Super hovering over him. 

 

Clark stilled and scanned him once more, the he halted. A look of confusion passed over his face for a fleeting second. Tim looked up at him questioningly. 

 

“Oh...Tim. I thought. Well. You appear to be perfectly alright.” Clark said, seeming baffled. Tim tried not to look at the Meta as if he was completely insane, but by the wince that Clark let out he had apparently failed. 

 

“I’m absolutely fine. Why did you think…?” He let the question hang there, idly wondering in the back of his mind what happened to the thugs he had been in mid-fight with.

 

“Oh, I couldn’t hear you anymore. I got...worried.” Clark said earnestly down at him, as if that explained the twilight zone type situation Tim suddenly found himself in. 

 

“You couldn’t  _ hear  _ me anymore?” Tim asked, doing his level best to sound, well,  _ level _ . 

 

Clark nodded down at him somberly. “Yes. Your heartbeat was incredibly...muted and muffled. I thought perhaps that you had been hurt.” No one should cause Clark’s face to look like that. Tim knew this wasn’t his fault. He knew it. And yet, seeing Clark’s eyebrows furrowed together like that made him feel like he had just kicked a puppy. Goddammit. 

 

“Clark, I don’t understand what-...oh.” Tim paused, thinking. Was it possible that his suit…? He moved to check and realized that he was still holding Clark’s wrists still on his chest. The super quickly withdrew his hands, moving back from Tim in a measured distance. Still close enough that if Tim decided to spontaneously faint he would catch him before he fell even a millimeter. 

 

Tim lifted up the ruined edge of the suit, despairing internally at the ruination of months of hard work, and pressed it against his heart. Clark made an abortive lunge forward and then reeled back. 

 

“Ah. I see. Tim, did you design this material yourself? How incredible.” The super said earnestly.

 

“Thanks. I’ve been experimenting with various weaves to help camouflage better...This suit contains lead components.” Tim explained apologetically to Clark’s still distraught face. And then he remembered that he was the ‘victim’ here. 

 

“Clark you were listening for me? Did you need something?” _ Please let this be a one off kind of thing _ , Tim begged.  _ Or at least don’t let it be anything weird _ . 

 

“Tim, I am always listening for you.” Clark said openly.  _ Goddammit _ . 

 

“Can I ask  _ why _ ?” He asked incredulously. 

 

“Well…” Clark’s sudden hesitation was not making Tim feel any better. He fluidly rolled to his feet, ignoring that Clark was only a head shorter than him when kneeling, and moved back. Never mind the fact that this was Superman, he was a  _ Robin _ ; they were taught mistrust and suspicion from the get go. 

 

“Oh, Tim please, I don’t mean to alarm. I just...don’t want you to react negatively.” Clark said beseechingly. 

 

“To what.” Tim said testily, wondering if he should reach for the homing beacon on his suit. 

 

“Well, Bruce asked me to,  _ occasionally _ , keep track of your well being.” 

 

“ _ He did what?! _ ” 

 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

“Call him off.” Tim ground out at Bruce. 

 

“No.” Bruce said, without looking up from where he was reinforcing Dick’s armor. 

 

“Bruce. This is literally insane. Call him off.” Tim said, throwing his hands up in frustration. 

 

“No.” Bruce said again, somehow even more mildly than before. As if Tim were upset about something mundane like the  _ weather _ . 

 

“Bruce, you cannot be serious. Think about what you are doing. You have the most powerful man in our universe checking up on me when he could be doing other stuff! Other more heroic, more important  _ stuff _ !” Tim said in exasperation. 

 

“Clark knows how to arrange his priorities.” Bruce said with a dark smile. A smile that said if Clark’s priorities weren’t directly in line with Bruce’s, they would be having a tea party. In a room that glowed green. 

 

“He probably doesn’t even want to do this! You’re practically force-...” 

 

A swoosh of air cut Tim off, and in the next blink of his eye, Clark stood in front of them, smiling bashfully.

 

“Sorry, I overheard.” He said with a rueful smile, “Tim, sorry if I wasn’t clear before, but it is my utmost honor to look after your well being.” Sincerity poured off of him, and Tim could only gape. 

 

“Good.” Bruce grunted. “Glad that’s settled. Tim, go to bed. Clark, get out of my cave.” 

 

“Of course! Good night, Tim! Have a wonderful evening. Bruce.” And with a tip of his imaginary hat, because Superman could not get more corny and  _ no one believed him, _ the man was gone. 

 

“Bed, Tim.” Bruce nudged, when Tim did not move from his spot, mind still furiously trying to figure out what just happened. 

 

“Bruce. You have to listen to me, this is  _ insane _ . There’s nothing wrong with me. I’ve healed from  _ everything _ . The spleen thing was  _ years ago _ .” Tim said, in what he hoped was a reasonable, not hysterical tone. 

 

“Tim. The  _ spleen thing _ , was also the  _ removal of a vital organ from your body _ thing. I worry.” Bruce deadpanned. “And didn’t I tell I you to go to bed?” 

 

“I’m not going to bed!” Tim absolutely did not stamp his foot. 

 

His declaration finally got Bruce’s attention in the way that it hadn’t when Tim spent the last half hour yelling, whining, pleading, and threatening him. Or when Clark showed up. 

 

“What do you mean, you’re not going to bed? Rest is very important Tim.” Bruce frowned heavily at him. 

 

Tim crossed his arms and planted his feet. A small part of his brain laughed at him for thinking that would do anything against The Batman, but he shoved it down. 

 

“I’m not going to bed. What are you doing to do? Call Clark?” Tim said sarcastically. 

 

“No, no.” Bruce said, putting down the welder and taking off his protective gloves. “Clark is only for when you are not directly in front of me. You know what Champ? I’m exhausted too. Let me tuck you in and I promise I’ll read to you before we hit the hay.” Bruce said, smiling at him in a manner that children found comforting and Tim found terrifying. 

 

He scrambled backwards. 

 

“Stay away!” Tim ran. 

 

Safe to say, Bruce caught him before he had even left the cave. 


End file.
